


make me a mess (I'll clean it up)

by mlraven



Category: British Comedy RPF
Genre: Confessions, First Time, Flatmate era, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-08 15:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/pseuds/mlraven
Summary: Russell spends weeks planning it— he doesn’t want any ambiguity in his question, no chance for Jon to laugh it off and then hide forever.





	make me a mess (I'll clean it up)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redandgold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandgold/gifts).



> Happy Chocobox, redandgold!
> 
> I saw your request for Jon/Russell fluff and I couldn't resist! We need more Jon/Russell fluff in the world :)
> 
> Credit for beta & britpick to the lovely anon :)

Russell spends weeks planning it— he doesn’t want any ambiguity in his question, no chance for Jon to laugh it off and then hide forever. He finds himself getting increasingly distracted during conversations, taking all of his spare time to decide the best, most foolproof way to ask Jon out.

It gets to the point where he stops talking in the middle of a lead-in on _6 Music_ and Jon has to hastily cover for him.

Once the song is playing, Jon covers his mic and leans in toward Russell.

“Alright, mate?” he asks, looking worried.

Russell laughs self-deprecatingly and scrubs a hand over his face, dislodging his glasses.

“Yeah, just a lot on my mind,” he says, willing Jon to leave it alone.

Jon still looks concerned, but he nods and sits back in his chair, pulling up the notes for the next segment of the show.

  
  


After that, Russell steps up the timetable.

It doesn’t matter if his plan isn’t perfect; clearly the planning itself is driving him mental, so the sooner he asks Jon out, the better. Even if—

Russell tries not to think about Jon rejecting him, or about Jon accepting because he has no other offers. What was it Kerry’s self-help book said? _Visualize the future you want, and it will come._

He decides to do it on the day Jon comes home from supporting Alan on the northern leg of his tour. Jon will be tired, and won’t be expecting anything— or anyone— to be waiting when he comes in.

On the day Jon’s set to return, Russell wakes up at six in the morning, already buzzing with nerves, and spends the entire morning cleaning the flat from top to bottom. He suspects that Jon is better at things like the skirting board— Russell wonders who else cleans the skirting board but Jon? No one looks at it, do they?— but he does his best, and the flat certainly looks better than it did at any other point during Jon’s trip.

He’s intending to make a pie, too— Jon’s favorite, rhubarb— but by the time he finishes the pastry for the crust and sets it in the fridge to chill, he’s yawning enough to split his jaw.

This whole household maintenance thing is more exhausting than he bargained for— maybe he’ll just take a short nap to make up for the previous night’s tossing and turning.

  
  


Russell wakes up to the soft jangle of keys in the lock. He sits up, groaning, and sees that the sun is low in the sky. _Fuck, there goes the pie._ He runs his hands through his hair and tentatively sits back on the sofa to wait for Jon’s entrance.

“Hello?” Jon calls, setting his bags down and immediately toeing off his shoes in their proper spot. Russell hears him pause, then turn on the hall light to see better.

“What on earth…” he asks, and walks further into the flat. He enters the front room and sees Russell sat on the sofa, not a dirty sock in sight, wooden floor gleaming faintly in the orange haze of sunset.

He stands there, gaping, for long enough that it becomes clear that Russell’s going to have to make the first move (again).

“Hi,” Russell says, voice gravelly from sleep. He gives a dorky half-wave, then shoves his hands into his jeans pockets.

Jon finally regains his senses enough to ask, “Did you do this? All…” He waves a hand toward the hall, shoes neatly stacked in the trays he’s been trying to get them to use since he moved in.

Russell swallows, suddenly nervous, and nods.

Jon looks as though he expects Jeremy Beadle to jump out at any moment, so Russell takes a deep breath and says, “I did it for you. Because I didn’t want you to come home to a mess. Because I want you to feel comfortable here. Because… I like you, and I’m hoping that you might like me too?” His voice goes up on the last bit, turning squeaky without his permission. He winces.

He hurriedly adds, “I was going to make you a pie— the pastry is in the fridge! But I fell asleep and didn’t finish it.” He scuffs a bare foot against the faded rug.

Jon is silent.

Russell watches his face move from shock to disbelief to— is that hope?

Jon inhales shakily and takes a step toward Russell.

" _Yes_ ,” he says, voice surprisingly steady. Russell steps forward to meet him, and suddenly they’re kissing.

They break off long enough for Russell to say despairingly, “But the pie!”

Jon growls under his breath and draws him back in.

“Fuck the pie,” he says, kissing down Russell’s throat. He pulls back for a moment to add, “Besides, pastry stays safe at temperatures under 4℃ for up to three days.”

Russell groans and tugs him toward his bedroom. _Same old Jon._ Though really, Russell wouldn’t have him any other way.


End file.
